


A Taste of Mortality

by Nanosilver



Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Romance, Tiefling Baroness, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanosilver/pseuds/Nanosilver
Summary: He's holier now. She's fine with that, right?





	A Taste of Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> Baroness is a Tiefling, because I needed a break from my current fanfic  
> Spoilers for Tristian's quest and romance

Dawn is a strange time.

Zahi leans against the chest-high wall, the hard stones dig into her hands and bare arms, roughly scraping the ashen skin. The sun peeks beyond the horizon.

Sunlight…

Her nose twitches when the wind brings her the scents of the city; bread and people and stone walls and wood, all mingling and mixing into that familiar sense of home. She’s always been a child of cities, but this city is her child.

Her tail curls around his leg in the fraction of a second between moments; his arms wind around her waist, the city fades, replaced by the sweet taste of divine flowers. For a moment, her skin buzzes like a jolt of lightning passing from limb to limb.

„Good morning,“ she says, habit forging the words as he leans into her, pulling her closer with his arms. Warm breath tickles her pointed ears, he blows a gentle kiss at the left one, then rests his chin on her head, and his voice hums softly through her body.

„Her grace upon you, my dear.“

Her tail curls up tighter. „Hast he irony of blessing a Tiefling ever occurred to you?“

She feels the pause as he freezes and for a moment she fears he forgot the importance of breathing, but eventually he stirs again.

And pulls away.

There she goes, ruining a nice moment with her moody moodiness. But it wasn’t really a nice one, because she’s staring ahead, staring at the dawn and she’s _mad_ at Sarenrae, strange as it seems to be mad at a goddess. Being mad is what Tieflings do, she’s been told, and blessing is what angels do, and she thought she’s fine with that, but now he’s _holy_ again, and she’s still infernal.

It’s all so very complicated and he doesn’t seem to care at all. But he doesn’t leave; he’s Tristian, he wouldn’t do that.

Would he?

He rests his arms on the wall next to her, bathing in the light that takes him home. He’s blind now, but she knows that he isn’t really; he never bumps into things, he doesn’t stumble, he doesn’t falter.

And he always knows the location of her hand.

Blindsight, they call it. He wasn’t _blind_ before, but since his goddess took him back in, his senses gained uncanny acuity. Like he just knows. Knows what’s in front, what’s behind, what’s below and above. His eyes won’t allow him to read proper and he can’t see color, but if it has texture, Tristian is aware.

So very aware.

Though he doesn’t say it, she knows he doesn’t understand why she struggles now when she didn’t before. Why she falters now when her steps used to be sure. It sours the mood when things should be happy, joyous - now that he is whole again. A deva, a celestial. She saw his feathers, his halo, his shape that isn’t mortal, but so very beautiful. It’s full of light.

Her tail flicks.

“Talk to me?” he says; there’s a pleading edge, soft and forgiving, inviting. Asking for answers.

“I want to,” she mutters. Her sharp teeth scrape against her cheek as she props her chin.

What to say?

She wants to know what he thinks. What he wonders. Does he know?

“Things seem surreal,” she finally says, though it doesn’t really seem right. It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t capture the truth.

“Which things?”

She frowns. Her hand next to his, it’s smaller, lithe. Grey-ish. But still… more or less the same. His fingers cover hers and squeeze and she feels warmth for a moment, the feeling she misses and loves and craves. It makes no sense, she now fears the sunlight though the sunlight brings such warmth, because the sun is Her, and She is his mistress.

 _It’s not fair,_ she realizes. Angrily. Petulant.

Gods are stupid.

“I love you,” she blurts.

His brows furrow in confusion; a cute look if nothing else. _Of course,_ he’s confused, her answer makes no sense. Although it does. It did. In her head.

No one listens to her head. It’s a mess.

“That’s surreal?” he asks, a hint of confusion, a hint of _hurt_ \- no, _no_. He should never be hurt, her sunshine, her light.

“No, I mean, it’s-“

Teeth sink into her lip, she scowls angrily. Words, _words_ , they suck. So inefficient. Who made this system? Which god thought this to be a good idea? The world is full of terrible ideas, and it’s all their fault, and now they think themselves the kings of it all.

“I’m not… you… I’m not-“

He only scowls further, a deep crease in his forehead.

Her tail flicks against the wall. The pain forces her to focus.

“You know what we’re doing here is crazy, right? That’s what I mean. I and you- I mean, I love you. So much. I’ll stab people for you-“

He opens his blind eyes wide, startled; and she immediately knows what’s coming. “Please don’t.”

“Fine, bad example. No, look, what I mean is. You’re a Deva.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Yes. We’ve talked about that. I… I thought it was…”

He trails off, and the worry in his voice quickly breaks her heart. Her hands find his face, his jawline, his cheeks; cupping them tenderly with her lithe fingers. Though he says nothing, she feels him lean into it, always seeking her warmth.

“I hate myself for it, Tristian, but I- “ she stutters, and his eyes, they go so wide when she says that word, ‘hate’, he doesn’t like it. “I know it makes you happy to be with Sarenrae again, but I’m scared.”

She expects many things. Anger perhaps, rejection.

He doesn’t say anything.

The silence drives her tongue to fill it with words, though they can only make things worse. “And I, I actually think you… deserved better…”

His head twitches again, she feels it against her palms still resting on his cheeks.

“I… I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m confused.”

It’s a harrowing moment, to feel him withdraw from her; it fills her with dread, the crushing feeling of a mistake. The thought that he will simply spread his wings and fly away now, never to be seen again.

Is that it? Is she afraid of his wings? They did always say to let go of the things you love. But if she had ever done that in her life, she would have nothing left. Fate is not kind to her kin.

“I can imagine no better than the mercy I was granted. I… don’t understand,” he says. She feels anger stir, not at him, but at the world. The system. How things are.

“All this time you were so loyal to her, but she said nothing. All the pain you went through. Nyrissa. Your wings. I feel it’s… _cruel_ to let those who have failed stumble in the dark endlessly, in the vain hope that they may someday happen upon their redemption. I… you love her anyway. But what she gives you, I don’t know what it is. It’s not love.”

Silence.

She half expects him to explode, get mad at her. Yell. Anything. But he just frowns.

“I see why you feel that way,” his voice forms softly, stunning her into silence.

Leave it to Tristian to be understanding of _that_. 

His head turns, blind eyes still not seeing, but somehow acting as if they could. The habits are ingrained, even if the sense no longer responds; and so his blind gaze drifts over the city that they raised together.

“You’ve never been touched by her light,” he breathes. “It’s what I know as love. What I _knew_ as love before I met you. It’s not the same, no. I serve her and that soothes me. It’s inner peace. It’s stability. To serve is my being, my purpose.”

She scowls at nothing. “It’s a deva thing, I get it.”

A sigh passes his lips. “I’m afraid so.”

“But I don’t like it.”

His fingers weave into hers, connecting them where their natures bring them apart, binding the chaos that never stops swirling. “Are you scared I’ll leave you for my goddess?”

So blunt. Dances around the issue, then slams it in her face. Not elegant, but very much like him – he knows the problem, he just wants her to have the space to voice it.

But when she doesn’t, he isn’t scared to pry. Not anymore. 

Her tail flicks wildly. “… Yes.”

He could laugh. Probably should. It is silly, right? Right.

… He doesn’t laugh.

His fair brows crease, painting worry onto his sharp features. His eyes are gone, but their impression lingers; she remembers his anxious stare, the intense glow.

_Flick. Swish._

Damn tail, always doing what it wants. Always swishing. It grasps, curls; taking hold of his leg, forbidding him from leaving. It’s pointless, leaving isn’t on his mind. But she fears.

His forehead bumps into hers, avoiding the rough surface of her horns with the ease of practice. Because they’ve done this so many times. In the mornings, in the evenings. Between councils. Hiding from their peers in empty corridors.

It’s not different now, he’s just a little bit more holy. With some feathers.

His lips are soft against hers and she tastes the cinnamon he had for breakfast, a slight hint of sugar and strawberries. Sweet things are his greatest weakness besides his well-hidden pride and truth be told, she _likes_ his pride. It rarely seems misplaced.

He’s learned how to kiss well, for example.

They lean against the wall, her arms around his neck pulling him down, locking him in a kiss – not that it would’ve been necessary, he holds her as tightly as she holds him. Even as their lips part, he lingers near her ear, ragged breath caressing her skin.

How she loves his voice. It is velvet turned to sound, tugging every string just right to shape the tune that compels her.

“My goddess can’t give me this,” he breathes; like a secret whispered to her alone, brushing against her ear. Hidden from Sarenrae.

Light kisses touch her cheek, a word between every kiss, and so he spells “I love you” against her skin.

It’s true, she realizes. It’s not the _same_ , and he knows that. He knows that, and that’s why no deity can take this from her. Gods don’t love as mortals do, and he has tasted mortal love.

He withdraws eventually, but he’s still close when he speaks again, so close that he words hum in her ears and vibrate against her skin. “You seem calmer now.”

Tristian does tend to have that effect on her.

Playing with a smile, she replies, “just figured something out, is all.”

“Oh?” His hair falls over his shoulder as he tilts his head, curiosity shining even through the lack of light in his eyes. “What would that be?”

Smile still on her lips, she bumps her forehead against his. “You’ve had sugar for breakfast again, you fiend.”

His cheeks immediately turn pink and he smiles awkwardly, the face of a man who knows he’s been caught.

“And I bet you didn’t even leave me any.”

The smile becomes a sheepish grin. Guilty.

Tristian is willing to share many things, but he doesn’t share his sweets unless asked, and having a sweet tooth is so _very_ mortal.

He’s a deva, but maybe that doesn’t mean much in the end.


End file.
